A Day in the Life
by lansingfan
Summary: A glimpse of a typical day in the life of Paul Blaisdell. It is set between the first and second seasons.


"A Day in the Life"

_Late August 1994_

_6:30am _

The alarm clock blares and my eyes snap open. I am instantly awake and aware of my surroundings, a habit I developed early on during my Special Forces training. It's a practice that has stayed with me my entire life and has served me well over the years. I reach over and hit the snooze button, silencing the noise for nine more minutes. Annie stirs and then snuggles up against me before drifting back to sleep until the alarm goes off again. I take a moment to indulge in watching her sleep, and am once again reminded of how lucky I am to have her as my wife. Tousled, golden hair frames her beautiful face, giving her an angelic appearance. Unable to resist, I trace my finger along her jaw line, wanting nothing more than to make love with her. _Tonight, babe_, I whisper, and softly kiss her cheek before I slip out of bed and head for the shower.

_7:01am_

The tantalizing aroma of frying bacon greets me as I enter the kitchen, causing my stomach to growl. Even though I get out of bed before Annie, I seldom make it downstairs before she does. Today is no exception. Still in her robe, she is standing by the stove removing strips of bacon from the skillet and putting them on a plate. I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her slim waist. "Good morning," I murmur as I lean down to kiss the nape of her neck.

"Good morning, sweetheart." She lingers momentarily in my embrace, and then squirms free in order to finish taking up the last pieces of bacon. "It's almost ready. I'll scramble the eggs if you'll fix the toast."

"Ok," I agree, and begin rummaging through the cabinet for the bread. "Does Kelly have class this morning?"

"Not until 10:00, so don't bother fixing any for her."

I find the loaf of bread, take out two slices, and drop them into the toaster. While waiting for them to brown, I go to the refrigerator and retrieve the butter and jelly, then grab the bacon and deposit all of the items on the table. While she finishes with the eggs, I pour us each a cup of coffee and then snag the toast when it pops up. I manage to juggle the piping-hot bread over to our plates without dropping either piece.

Sinking into my chair, I take a sip of coffee and open the newspaper. The lead story focuses on the city's financial woes, and I barely manage to stifle a groan. It looks like the meeting I have scheduled with the city council later this morning to ask for some much-needed funds for the department is going to be a complete waste of time. I toss the paper down in disgust and take another drink of coffee.

Annie puts the eggs on the table and sits down beside me, oblivious to the sour expression on my face. "What's on your agenda today?" she asks, and begins filling her plate.

"I have a meeting with the mayor and city council at 9:00 to see about getting some more money to fight the gangs that are taking over Chinatown. Frank has interviews with three applicants for Rod Stanley's old job at 11:00, and asked me to sit in on them. Jefferson High is having a career fair this afternoon and I'm supposed to talk to their student body about police work. And Sandra Mason called again yesterday and wants to interview me about that unsolved murder down on the waterfront. I've already put her off twice, so I need to try to find time to meet with her before she complains to Cooper about how inaccessible I am." I sigh deeply and wonder when the hell I became a bureaucrat instead of a cop.

"It sounds like you're going to have a busy day," she comments, and passes me the eggs.

I rake some on my plate and return the bowl to the table. "It's been like this all week," I grumble, as I butter my toast. "What have you got planned?"

"Nothing this morning, but Carolyn's coming over when Kelly gets out of class and we're having a girls' day out. We're going to _The Burger Shack _for lunch_, _and then we're hitting the mall. Carolyn also said something about us getting our hair done, but I'm not sure if we'll have time. I guess it'll depend on how much shopping we do."

"That sounds nice," I manage, but can already hear my credit card wailing from the abuse it's about to receive.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she says between bites of eggs. "John Durham called last night while you were out mowing and wanted to know if you were still planning on playing golf with him Saturday. I told him you'd call him back."

"Ok, I'll try to catch up with him sometime today." Glancing at my watch, I'm not surprised to discover that I'm running behind. I scarf down the rest of my breakfast, and Annie walks with me to the door. I kiss her goodbye and hurriedly knot my tie, briefly wondering why I even bother. I know I will jerk it loose long before lunch.

_7:33am_

As I step into the squad room, I am immediately caught up in a whirlwind of activity that is always present and never seems to diminish. I stop for a minute and drink it all in, still mesmerized after all these years by the sights and the sounds of the room. God, I love this job. No matter how much I complain about it, no matter how many headaches it gives me, I can't imagine doing anything else. The satisfaction of helping people and the reward of seeing justice carried out far outweigh the frustrations that come with it.

As I head for the sanctuary of my office, I motion for Mike Kozlowski, the night shift supervisor, to join me. While I start a pot of coffee, he gives me a brief rundown on what happened in the precinct overnight, and then heads home for some well-deserved sleep. I fill my coffee mug and sit down behind my desk, hoping to get some work done before the day shift comes in and all hell breaks loose.

_7:47am_

I make it through exactly two reports before my door is assaulted by a series of short, sharp raps which I immediately recognize as Frank Strenlich's distinctive knock. "Come in," I call out without looking up.

The burly ex-Marine who serves as my chief of detectives enters the office and without preamble says, "Paul, you've got to do something with that damn kid."

There's no question as to who 'that damn kid' is. With a deep sigh I take off my reading glasses and lay them aside, trying to pretend that I don't feel the start of a headache at the base of my skull. "What's he done this time?" I ask, although I'm pretty sure I don't want to know the answer. Since Caine walked out on him five months ago to find his path, Peter has been on a collision course with disaster.

"Well, for starters, he's been late for his shift every day this week. Apparently, he thinks he's too good to comply with the same set of rules that the rest of his co-workers have no problem following."

Strenlich knows that I'm well aware of Peter's penchant for arriving late to work – I've disciplined him for it on numerous occasions over the years. I also know this is not what has him so hot and bothered, so I lean back in my chair, steeple my fingers, and wait for the other shoe to drop. "What's this really about, Frank?"

"This is about me being sick and tired of taking the heat for him every time he decides to pretend that he's some goddamn Superman," he snarls. "Chief Peretti just called and chewed my ass out because of that little stunt he pulled yesterday afternoon."

"What little stunt?" I demand, but I already know it has to be something pretty bad in order to have Tom Peretti on the warpath. Peretti, who is the city's fire chief, is one of the most laid back people I know.

Frank looks at me in surprise and says, "You mean you didn't see the news last night?"

"Obviously not," I reply, feeling my blood pressure begin to rise. "I worked out in the yard until it was dark, then took a shower and went to bed. What happened?"

"There was a three-alarm fire at one of the housing complexes over on Holton. The building was almost completely engulfed in flames when a woman came running out, screaming that her kid was trapped inside. Before the firemen had a chance to go in, Peter ran in after her."

"What the hell was he doing there in the first place?"

"He and Powell were there on a domestic disturbance call," he explains. "Anyway, not only did he not have any authorization to go in, he didn't have any equipment. No mask, no tank, nothing. Paul, you have to admit that that was insane, even by his standards."

"Yeah, no wonder Tom is so upset. I would be, too, if I were in his shoes."

"Upset is not the word; he's furious. Instead of sending in just one crew after the little girl, he had to send in two, knowing that the whole thing could collapse at any minute. He risked the lives of several additional men all because of Peter."

"I'll talk to him," I say, barely able to contain my fury. When I get my hands on that kid I'm going to kill him. He's always been reckless, but this time he's gone too far. He not only put his own life in danger, but the lives of half the fire department. "What about the little girl? Did he get to her in time?"

A look that is half irritation and half admiration crosses Frank's face. "He got her out just before the building collapsed. But that's not the point. He's out of control. You know it, I know it, the whole fucking department knows it. He's going to get somebody killed, maybe even himself, if you don't do something to stop him."

"I said I'll handle it," I snap, my tone lethal. I take perverse pleasure in watching him shrink back from my wrath. He knows he's stepped over the line and wisely keeps his mouth shut for a few seconds while I gain control of my temper. "Thanks for telling me about it."

He nods slightly. "Don't forget about those interviews at 11:00," he reminds me and then ducks out of my office.

I close my eyes and slump back in my chair, fighting down the urge to yank my tie off. As soon as my pulse returns to a normal rate, I slip on my glasses and pick up another report.

_8:11am_

Deciding that I've given Peter plenty of time to show up, I step out into the bullpen and scan the room, which is humming with the usual chaos. Blake is working on some sort of transmitter, pieces of which are strewn all over his desk. Jody is sitting on the edge of Skalany's desk, sipping coffee, and they are deep in conversation. Broderick is in the process of booking a long line of perps that were arrested overnight, one of whom is dressed like Elvis. Not surprisingly, there is no sign of the errant detective.

"Has anybody seen Peter?" I shout above the racket.

They all stop what they're doing and look at me like I've just asked them to explain Einstein's Theory of Relativity, which means they know damn well why I'm looking for him. Nobody answers, and that irritates me even further. "As soon as he comes in, tell him I want to see him."

I stalk back to my office and slam the door.

_8:32am_

Having spent the last twenty minutes prepping for my meeting with the council, I decide to fortify myself with another cup of coffee before heading over to the municipal building. God knows I'm going to need it. I fill up my mug and reach for the sugar, only to discover that it's all gone. I go out into the squad room to swipe a packet from their stash, and a commotion from the booking counter instantly captures my attention. The Elvis fanatic wearing the white sequined jumpsuit is arguing loudly with Broderick.

"I'm telling you," he shouts, "Elvis came to me in a vision last night and promised that he would make an appearance at this location today. I'm not leaving until I see him!"

"And I'm telling you," Broderick yells back, "that Elvis has been dead for almost twenty years. He's not coming here today, he's not coming here tomorrow, he's not coming here ever. Now get the hell out of my face before I have you thrown in solitary!"

At that precise moment, Kermit walks into the building and begins weaving his way through the crowded room, oblivious to the exchange taking place by the counter. He's dressed in his usual attire – dark suit, white shirt, thin red tie, and green sunglasses.

The man freezes when he sees Kermit. "Oh my God, I don't believe it," he says, his voice filled with awe. "It's him. It's really him!"

"What?" Broderick says in disbelief.

The man rushes over to Kermit and grabs his arm, a move that has cost several people their lives over the years. Kermit glares at him over the top of his shades, and for a moment I'm afraid of what will happen next. Before I can intervene, the man lets go of his arm and the muscles in Kermit's jaw relax.

"I knew you weren't really dead, I just knew it!" he exults. "The CIA made you disappear, didn't they, Elvis? Because you found out that they had John F. Kennedy assassinated. Those bastards. God knows what else they've lied to the American people about."

Kermit snaps his head in my direction and we exchange a knowing look.

"I'm so excited to finally meet you," the man continues, practically drooling over Kermit. "You don't know how much I love your music. It's been my lifelong dream to see you perform live, and if you could just do one of your songs for me, I'll never ask you for anything else. Not even your autograph."

"Sorry, I forgot to bring my guitar today," Kermit says, and starts to walk away.

The man whips out a portable CD player. "That's ok. I have this," he says, and quickly pushes a button. The familiar opening notes of "All Shook Up" fill the room.

Kermit stares at the man for a brief moment, and I pray he doesn't just pull out the Desert Eagle and gun him down. Then, to the utter shock of everyone in the room, myself included, he launches into his best Elvis impersonation, complete with swiveling hips. In a surprisingly good voice, he belts out the song without missing a word. The entire squad room erupts with applause when he finishes.

"Thank you, thank you very much," he says, and then disappears into his office.

"Can we get a psych consult?" Broderick screams to no one in particular.

"For your perp or for Kermit?" Skalany shouts back.

I shake my head and, without saying a word, go back into my office.

_8:45am_

I grab my briefcase and head for the meeting at city hall, dreading it worse than some of the clandestine trips I take to certain Third World countries. After reading the article in the paper, I'm almost certain my request for more money will be turned down. I look for Peter as I walk through the bullpen, but there's still no sign of him. My patience is wearing thin, but I can wait him out. He can't hide from me forever.

_10:13am_

Still fuming from the meeting that just ended, I return to the precinct. The council denied my request in no uncertain terms and then had the audacity to ask why the gangs were getting so out of control. These are the same people who promised when they were trying to get elected last fall that they would do everything they could to help the police department crack down on crime. Damn hypocrites. In a fit of frustration, I yank my tie loose and undo the top button of my shirt, but it provides little relief. My head is pounding, my stomach is churning, and I haven't even met with Peter yet.

Frank is coming out of his office as I pass through the bullpen. "Has Peter showed up?" I ask.

"No, but he called in right after you left. Said he'd just got through talking to Donny Double D and was going to run down a lead on that jewelry heist that went down last week. He said he'd be here when he finished up with that."

"Let me know the minute he gets in," I command, and head straight for my desk and the bottle of Tylenol I keep in the top drawer. I shake out three tablets, grab a glass, and go back out into the squad room to get some water out of the fountain.

Holding my glass over the spigot, I twist the knob and, without warning, am hit squarely in the eye with a gush of water. It runs down the side of my face and onto my shirt, soaking it good. Biting back a curse, I use the back of my hand to wipe my eyes.

Mary Margaret's desk is closest to the fountain, and I see her turn her head in order to hide her amusement. The rest of the staff is not so polite – there is a chorus of muffled laughter behind me.

I look down into the spigot, but there's no gum, paper, or any other object altering the flow. I do a quick inspection and see no obvious signs of tampering. Striding over to Skalany's desk, I grab a pen and write OUT OF ORDER on a piece of printer paper and tape it to the apparatus.

"Call maintenance and have them fix this water fountain," I tell Broderick on the off-chance that it's legitimately in need of repair. I have serious doubts that it is. And although Peter or some other notorious prankster will probably get blamed for it, my money's riding on Blake being the culprit. He's just too clever to ever get caught.

_10:22am_

Just as I have settled in to try to get some more paperwork done before the interviews start, the phone rings.

I pick up the receiver. "Blaisdell."

"Good morning, Captain," a female voice says.

I recognize it immediately as Sandra Mason's and grit my teeth. I have never been a fan of her style of reporting, mainly because she sensationalizes her stories and slants the facts to make them fit whatever agenda she is pursuing. I bite down my distaste and return her greeting. "Good morning, Ms. Mason. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to interview you about that body that washed up on the waterfront last week. Rumor has it that it's gang related. If so, it would be the fourth one this summer. Whether you like it or not, Captain, the public has a right to know what the police are doing about all this violence that's permeating the city." She pauses. "Of course, if you're too busy, I could always call Commissioner Cooper and tell him you're still unavailable."

Ignoring her smug tone, I say, "That won't be necessary. I'd be delighted to meet with you. How does 4:00 sound?"

There is a moment of stunned silence before she recovers. "4:00 will be fine," she stammers. "I'll see you then."

I grin as I hang up the receiver. For once, I'm actually looking forward to talking to the press. There are a few things I want to say to the public regarding the city council they elected.

_10:50am_

Before I head downstairs to help Frank with the interviews, I put in a quick call to John Durham, one of my oldest and best friends. We spend a few minutes catching up and then confirm our golf plans for Saturday. I have a feeling that by the end of the week I'm going to feel like whacking a few golf balls. If I pretend I'm hitting the members of the city council, I'll probably add fifty yards to my drives.

_12:06pm_

The last applicant leaves the conference room, and Frank and I confer. Our discussion doesn't last long because we unequivocally agree on the same candidate. With that out of the way, I decide to grab some lunch. Again, I look for Peter as I leave the building, but he's still playing hide-and-seek with me. I'm tired of this little game, and if he doesn't report in soon, I'm going to hunt him down myself.

_12:19pm _

I walk into _Carmine's Deli_, a great little restaurant a couple of blocks from the precinct where I like to go for lunch whenever I can. Sally Carmine, who runs the place with her husband Joe, is a gorgeous redhead in her early 40s who used to be a Broadway dancer. She flirts outrageously with every male customer who comes in, and manages to make each one feel like they're her favorite. It's one reason she has such a thriving business. That and her world-class subs and burgers.

She smiles warmly when I step up to place my order. "Hey, good-lookin'. Have you finally decided to dump Annie and run off to Tahiti with me?"

"Can't today – my schedule's full. How 'bout next week?"

"You've been promising me that for ten years. One of these days, I'm going to take you up on it."

"You wouldn't leave Joe any more than I would leave Annie. Besides, Tahiti's overrated."

"Yeah, but I bet you aren't," she says, and wags her eyebrows suggestively. She pulls a pen out from behind her ear. "What'll it be today?"

I grin and then glance at the menu above the counter, even though I'm pretty sure I know what I want. Nothing I see makes me change my mind. "A Philly cheesesteak, fries, and a Coke."

She scribbles down my order and then rings it up. "That'll be $8.75."

I dig out my wallet and hand her a ten. She gives me back my change and a plastic cup. "Give me ten minutes, sweetheart," she says with a wink, and then disappears behind the double doors that lead to the kitchen to give Joe my order.

As I head over to the soda fountain to get my drink, I scan the dining area out of habit. Skalany and Powell are in one of the booths, and I decide it's probably not a coincidence that they chose to eat here today. They know this is my favorite lunch spot, and have obviously been waiting for me. After I get my Coke, they wave me over and I slide in beside Mary Margaret.

"Hello, ladies," I say.

"Captain," they reply in unison.

"We were hoping you'd show up," Jody admits with a sheepish grin.

"Are you saying I'm predictable?" I accuse good-naturedly.

"Only about certain things," Mary Margaret quickly assures me.

I laugh, and then ask, "What's on your mind?"

Skalany hesitates for a brief second. "It's about Peter," she says.

"I figured as much," I reply, and feel the tension start to build in my shoulders.

"We're not trying to get him in trouble," Jody begins.

"Oh, don't worry," I snort. "He's done that all by himself."

"I guess you heard about what happened yesterday," Skalany says.

"Frank filled me in this morning, but I'd like to hear Jody's account," I reply. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Drawing a deep breath, she repeats almost verbatim what Frank told me earlier. She finishes up by saying, "He was lucky. If he'd been in there a minute longer, he would've been killed. Along with everyone else in the building."

"He's becoming more and more reckless," Skalany says, concern clouding her dark eyes. "We're worried about him."

"I am, too," I concede. "Have there been any other incidents that I should know about?"

They exchange a brief glance. "Nothing as major as what happened yesterday," Skalany hedges.

"He just never calls for back up," Jody elaborates. "He rushes into dangerous situations without any regard for his own safety. It's almost like he doesn't care if he lives or dies."

"So far, he's been able to get away with it," Mary Margaret continues. "He's nailed some big-time criminals, saved several lives, and the press loves him."

"Which only fuels his outlandish behavior," Jody adds. "Everybody knows he's always been a little crazy, but this goes beyond that. He's out of control."

"We're afraid he's going to get somebody killed," Skalany finishes in a somber tone. "Most likely himself."

I take a moment to digest everything they've said. They have exactly the same concerns as Frank does, and I know they're well-founded. The way Peter's been acting lately scares the hell out of me, too. Everybody who has been around him the last few months can see that he's on the verge of imploding. It's just a question of when. And how many people are going to get hurt in the process.

"Thank you for coming to me about this," I say. "I really appreciate it, both as his father and as his captain. I'm going to have a long talk with him about his behavior, and if I don't see a significant change in the immediate future, he'll be subject to severe disciplinary action."

"Like I said earlier," Jody reiterates, "we're not trying to get him in trouble."

"We just don't want to see him get hurt," Mary Margaret concludes.

I smile, touched by their concern. "I know. And if there are any other incidents, please let me know."

"We will," Jody promises.

Before we can start another conversation, Sally brings our orders over and we succumb to the food.

_1:01pm_

Despite the serious conversation that marked the beginning of our lunch, it turned out to be a very enjoyable experience. The food was delicious, as usual, and Mary Margaret and Jody are always great company. I leave _Carmine's_ stuffed and caught up on all the latest gossip. Between the two of them, they know everything that happens at the precinct. I should have lunch with them once a month just to keep up with what's going on.

I debate going back to the station to see if Peter has shown up, but I know I don't have time to get into it with him before my 1:30 appointment at the high school. I decide to drive straight there; hopefully, I'll get there in time to catch up with the principal before I talk to the students about the joys of police work.

_2:47pm_

I pull into the police station and am met by a blast of sweltering heat when I get out of the car. The afternoon sun beats down on me relentlessly as I walk across the parking lot. In a futile attempt to combat the stifling humidity, I take off my jacket and tug at my tie, which I had straightened for the career fair.

Much to my delight, the fair turned out to be a very rewarding experience. It was the first time I had spoken at this particular school, and, for the most part, the students were well-behaved and seemed interested in what I had to say. I talked to the principal briefly after it was over and she invited me back next year. I told her I'd be happy to come. Dealing with kids of any age is something I enjoy, and is one of the most gratifying aspects of my job.

I step into the precinct, grateful to get out of the blazing sun. As I make my way through the bullpen, I scan the room for Peter. There's still no sign of him, damn it. Frank is nowhere to be found, either, but Powell is hunched over Skalany's desk, looking at something on her computer screen. They glance up when I walk over.

"Where's Peter?" I ask.

"He went over to the morgue to talk to Nickie about an autopsy report," Jody replies. "He should be back any minute."

"Send him to my office as soon as he gets back," I instruct, irritation threading through my voice.

"Will do, Captain," Mary Margaret promises.

Jody, who was out of the building when I got soaked this morning, walks over to the water fountain and leans down to get a drink.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Mary Margaret warns and jerks her head to the OUT OF ORDER sign I posted earlier.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Jody scoffs. "It was put there by the same idiot who put one on the microwave last week. And on the bathroom door the week before that. They both worked perfectly fine, and I'm betting this does, too."

Mary Margaret shrugs. "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."

With a skeptic laugh, Jody pulls her blond curls away from her face and moves closer to the spigot. She turns it on and is soaked by the wayward stream of water.

I chuckle in amusement then go to my office to wait for Peter.

_2:58pm_

Through slatted blinds I watch Peter slink into the precinct. He casts a nervous glance in the direction of my office before dropping into his chair. Jody comes over and they have a brief but animated conversation. Once she returns to her desk, he sighs and drags a hand through his hair. He peers in my direction again and chews on his bottom lip, as if he's trying to decide if he should come over and talk to me.

Before he can convince himself not to, I open my door and step out into the bullpen. He sees me coming and instinctively tries to escape, but isn't quite fast enough. "Hold it right there, Detective Caine," I growl in a deadly voice. "I want you in my office. Right now."

He flinches at my tone, knowing from experience that it indicates I'm seriously pissed off. Much more so than when I yell. The entire squad room stops what they're doing and watches as he slowly makes his way into my office. I ignore the sympathetic looks he receives from Jody and Mary Margaret, and then shut the door on their curious eyes.

As I step around the desk to my chair, Peter takes his customary place by the filing cabinet and begins fidgeting with the handle of the top drawer. After I settle in, I watch him for a long moment. He absolutely cannot be still. He shuffles his feet. His hands are constantly moving, idly running over the various items within his reach. He unnecessarily straightens the family picture taken last Christmas, then picks up a pen and gracefully twirls it through his long fingers before putting it back down.

The tension is coming off of him in waves – I can feel it across the room – and he refuses to look at me. I know the silence is killing him, so I let him squirm for a few more seconds before I finally speak. "Would you like to explain to me just what the hell you were thinking yesterday?"

"Yesterday?"

The innocent act only irritates me further. "Don't play dumb with me, Peter. You know damn well what I'm talking about."

"I should've known Frank would come running to you the first chance he got," he mutters.

"Don't you dare try to blame this on Frank," I snap. "It's his job to come to me when one of my officers ignores protocol."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry I didn't have time to get a permission slip from the fire chief before I tried to rescue a trapped kid."

"Don't get smart with me," I warn, shooting him one of my best glares.

He has the good grace to look momentarily contrite. "Look, maybe I didn't play it exactly by the book, but everything turned out all right. I got the little girl out and nobody got hurt," he says with a flippant shrug. "No big deal."

"It _is_ a big deal, don't you understand that? You deliberately violated regulations when you went into that building, regulations that exist for a very good reason. You may not like the rules, Peter, but that doesn't mean you can disregard them whenever you feel like it."

"Oh, come on. It wasn't like that. I don't know what Frank told you, but he blew it way out of proportion."

"No, I don't think he did. That building was in danger of collapsing. You could have been killed. And you're acting like what you did was just some minor violation, like forgetting to clock in. Damn it, Peter, this is serious."

I wait for a response, but all I get is a sullen scowl.

"Do you know that Chief Peretti had to send an extra crew in after you? If that building had come down a minute sooner, those men could have all died trying to save your ass."

That sobers him up considerably. "I didn't think..."

"That's right," I interrupt, "you didn't think. In fact, you haven't been thinking much at all these past few months, have you? Because if you had, you'd realize that every time you decide not follow procedure you risk the lives of your co-workers and the very citizens you swore to protect. Is that what you want, Peter? For Mary Margaret or Jody to wind up with a bullet in them because of your recklessness? Or for some innocent bystander to get killed because you refuse to obey the rules?"

"No," he mumbles.

"Listen, kid, you may not care whether you live or die, but I sure as hell do. Have you ever stopped to think about what it would do to your mother if something happened to you? Or what it would do to me?" I pause for a moment until I can regain control of my temper. "Besides, it's not just me who's worried about you. Other people are concerned, too."

"Well, they shouldn't be," he snarls, and begins to pace around the room. "I can take care of myself."

"I don't know that you can," I say softly, as much to myself as to him. It's painfully clear that he's not going to accept responsibility for his destructive behavior. And until he does, I know it won't change. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't put you on desk duty until further notice. Because that's what I'm going to do unless you can convince me otherwise."

He whirls around and looks at me like I've just punched him in the gut. "You can't do that."

"The hell I can't."

His face scrunches up with rage. "Yeah, that's it, Paul, toss your authority around like one of those dictators you're always off fighting against," he sneers. "You might not want to admit it, but you can be just as ruthless as they are."

His comment infuriates me. I take a deep breath and remind myself that he's my son. It's the only thing that keeps me from knocking his head off. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," I finally say. "I need to talk to Blake about setting up some surveillance Morgan needs on a drug bust later tonight. You stay here and cool off, and when I get back maybe we can have a rational conversation."

He waits until I'm almost to the door and then whispers, "Yeah, just go on and leave. Everybody else does."

I turn back into the room. "You're the one who's left, Peter," I counter. "You've turned your back on your family and your friends. And what scares me the most is that I think you're trying to leave permanently. Because ever since your father disappeared, you act like you don't care what happens to you."

"You leave my father out of this!" he yells, incensed. "It has nothing to do with him."

"It has everything to do with him, and you damn well know it!"

He can't deny it, so we glare at each other for a long minute, both of us breathing heavily. A knock on the door breaks the tension. "What?" I bark.

Skalany tentatively sticks her head inside and looks at Peter. "Partner, we just got a call. There's a two-one-one in progress at the jewelry store over on 33rd. It could be our guy."

"Let's nail that son of a bitch," he says, and bolts for the door.

"Come back here, Detective Caine!" I thunder.

He stops dead in his tracks and turns around.

"I'm still waiting for you to convince me that I can trust you out on the streets. Until you do, you're not going anywhere."

"You can't be serious. This is my case. I've been chasing this guy for months."

"I'm completely serious." I turn my attention to Skalany. "Mary Margaret, take Jody with you instead."

"I can't, sir. She's interviewing a witness about the arson case she's been working on."

"Please let me go, Captain," Peter implores. "I swear I'll do everything by the book."

As much as I hate to admit it, my hands are tied. I can't send Skalany in alone, but I don't trust Peter not to do something stupid. And there's not enough time to find someone else to go with her. "All right, you can go," I concede. "But I'm coming with you to make sure you stay in line."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Yes, you do. And so help me, Peter, if you do anything that goes against regulations – jaywalk, spit on the street, anything – I will kick your ass myself. Understand?"

He starts to object, but wisely reconsiders. "Yes, sir," he grumbles.

_3:18pm_

I stop the car half a block from the scene and we are immediately met by Jimmy Wang, the responding officer.

"Tell me what you've got, Jimmy," I say.

"While I was out on patrol, a call came in that the silent alarm at Mr. Li's jewelry store had been tripped. I was only a block over, so I arrived on the scene within a minute. I determined there was a robbery in progress, secured the street, and called for backup."

"I'm glad somebody does," I mutter loud enough for Peter to hear, and then ignore the look he gives me. "How many men are inside, do you know?"

"I only saw one and he's definitely armed. He was holding a gun on the clerk."

"What about customers?"

"I have no idea, sir. I could only see the front of the store. And I couldn't get any closer without blowing my cover."

"Good job. You and Detective Caine stay here and guard the main entrance. Don't engage him until he clears the building and you're certain no civilians are in danger. Skalany and I will cover the back."

"Yes, sir," he says.

Satisfied that they have their end under control, I nod to Mary Margaret and we creep down the alley to the back of the store. It's lined with overflowing trash bins and discarded boxes, but is otherwise completely deserted. Not even a stereotypical alley cat is in sight.

We find the back entrance of the jewelry store and take our positions, one on each side of the door. If the suspect tries to come out this way, we'll have him covered. And I presume he'll be making his escape soon. A good thief learns early on to get in and get out as soon as possible, and this guy has already been in the store at least fifteen minutes.

Less than a minute later, we hear the sound of crashing glass. We draw our weapons simultaneously and enter the building, scanning the room as we go. The back part of the store is clear, so we proceed quickly, albeit cautiously, to the front.

When we step into the showroom, I instantly assess the situation and what I see horrifies me. The storefront window is shattered and Peter is lying on the floor in a pile of broken glass. The perp is standing over him pointing a gun at his head. I see a look of sheer terror spread across Peter's face as he realizes what's about to happen.

The man's finger starts to curl around the trigger and my heart almost stops. Despite my fear, years of training take over. My senses are heightened and time slows to a crawl. I don't think, I don't plan, I just react. With lightning speed, I take aim, praying I can get off a shot before the other man does. I pull the trigger and the bullet hits the guy in the hand, splintering the bones. He howls in agony and his weapon clatters to the floor.

The crack of the gun causes Peter to flinch violently, just like Harrison Ford did when Indiana Jones almost got shot in that scene from _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. It's funny what goes through your mind at a time like this. My son almost just got his head blown off and I'm thinking about some damn movie.

"Nice shot, Captain," Mary Margaret says. She walks over to the perp and kicks the gun out of his reach.

I am too transfixed by what just happened to even respond. I stand rooted to the spot, my attention focused on Peter. Our eyes meet and a look of overwhelming relief and gratitude radiates from his dark orbs. I am desperately torn. A part of me wants to take him in my arms and hold him like I did when he was a scared teenager waking up from a nightmare. Another part of me wants to beat the hell out of him.

The father in me wins out – it always does – and I walk over to him and rub his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He nods. "Th-thanks."

"Tell me what happened, Peter," I request. Even though I already have a pretty good idea of what he tried to do, I want to give him a chance to explain.

"Jimmy and I were keeping watch, just like you told us. The gunman turned away from the clerk and I thought I could take him out." His face becomes flushed and he looks away. "I jumped through the window onto his back, but he managed to sling me off. You know the rest."

"Yeah, I do," I reply. I'm silent for a long moment. Then, without anger, without any emotion at all, I do what I should have done a long time ago. "You're suspended without pay for a week for disobeying a direct order. After you finish serving your suspension, you'll be on desk duty until you complete a refresher course in basic police procedure at the academy. I'm personally going to write up an account of this incident, along with all of the others that have occurred in the last month, and put it in your personnel file. One more act of insubordination, no matter how minor, and I will dismiss you from the force. Do you understand, Detective?"

"Yes, sir."

"As you know," I continue, ignoring the hurt look on his face, "it's your right to contact your union representative and contest this decision. If that's the route you choose to take, I'll be happy to explain my actions to the review board."

Without waiting for a response, I walk away from him and watch Skalany and Wang secure the crime scene. Mary Margaret has already called for an ambulance, and IA will arrive soon to investigate the shooting. When they do, I'll get to spend the rest of the afternoon explaining to them why I had to discharge my gun.

_5:05pm_

After finally wrapping things up at the jewelry store, I enter my office to find Commissioner Frank Cooper resting his dirty carcass on my desk. A wave of irritation washes over me, but I manage to suppress the desire to knock him on his ass for so blatantly invading my privacy. Instead, I convey my displeasure by leveling him with a fierce glare. When he sees the way I'm looking at him, he swallows hard and lumbers to his feet.

Cooper and I have a long, acrimonious history. He resents me because I was chosen to lead the Falcon's Wing, an elite counterintelligence organization we were both in when we worked for the government. I didn't trust him back then, and I don't trust him now. He is more concerned with his image and in advancing his own career than in helping the people of our jurisdiction.

I step around him and sink into my chair with a weary sigh. To say I'm not in the mood for one of his visits would be an understatement, but I decide to be polite. For the time being. "What can I do for you, Commissioner?"

"Well, why don't you start by explaining why you stood Sandra Mason up this afternoon?"

Shit. I completely forgot about my appointment with her. And it doesn't surprise me that she went running straight to him about it, either. I close my eyes and grit my teeth. "I went out on a robbery…" I begin.

"Since when did you start handling those?" he interrupts. "I thought that's why we had a Detective Division."

"I felt like this was one that needed my personal attention," I reply, without offering any more details. "Besides, what would you like me to do? Stay in my office and cozy up to the press while criminals run loose in the streets?"

"Whether you like it or not, Blaisdell, part of your job is to handle the news media."

"My job is to keep this city safe and that's what I intend to do. If that means missing an appointment with a reporter, particularly one whose main objective is to portray this department in the worst possible light, then so be it. Unlike some people, I have never sucked up to the press, and I don't intend to start now."

He glowers at me for a long moment and then walks over to the door. "Maybe if you were a little less hostile in your dealings with them, they wouldn't be so quick to point out all of the department's mistakes. And maybe if you could get a handle on the gangs in Chinatown, there wouldn't be anything for them to report."

With that last jab, he opens the door and steps out into the bullpen. I jump up from my chair and follow him out. "Maybe if the city council would give me some money to get the resources I need, I could do something about those gangs," I retort, still steamed that he didn't push them harder in our meeting this morning.

He stops dead in his tracks and I know I've struck a nerve. "The next time Sandra Mason calls, you set up an appointment with her and extend her every courtesy. Do I make myself clear?" he thunders.

Still in a rage, he stomps over to the water fountain. He is so angry that he doesn't see the OUT OF ORDER sign as he leans down to get a drink.

"Commissioner…" Jody begins, but I shake my head furiously and the warning dies on her lips.

Cooper turns on the nozzle and is thoroughly drenched. Water goes everywhere, covering his suit, dripping down his nose, running down his chin. With as much grace as he can muster, which isn't very much, he takes out a handkerchief and wipes his face. "Get this goddamned water fountain fixed," he barks at Broderick on his way out of the precinct.

"Yes, sir," Broderick mutters.

I go back into my office, an evil grin on my face. Damn, but that felt good.

_6:26pm_

After a quick stop at the supermarket, I finally make it home.

"Hi, Dad," Kelly says, when I walk into the kitchen. "What's in the bags?"

"Dinner," I reply. After depositing the groceries on the table, I open the fridge and grab a bottle of Sam Adams that I've been fantasizing about all day. I twist it open and take a long drink, savoring the ice-cold liquid as it slides down my parched throat. "How was your girls' day out?"

"We had a blast. And wait until you see Mom. She got her hair cut and it looks great."

"Where is she anyway?"

"In the laundry room."

I pick up the mail off of the counter and flip through it. It's mostly bills and junk mail, but the latest issue of _Sports Illustrated_ catches my eye and I set it aside. "I'm going upstairs to change. Tell her I'm grilling steaks and that I got the stuff for a salad if she wants to make one."

"Ok. Do you want me to put some potatoes in to bake?"

"Yes, and be sure to fix one for Peter. I think he might be stopping by."

"Good. I haven't seen him in forever. Don't tell him I said so, but I've missed him."

"I know, sweetheart." I pat her shoulder and then head upstairs, taking my _Sports Illustrated_ and the rest of my beer with me. Once in the bedroom, I quickly shed my work clothes. I put my shirt and socks in the hamper, and lay my suit on the dresser to take to the cleaners. I throw on a pair of khaki cargo shorts and am in the process of getting a T-shirt out of the drawer when Annie comes into the room, a basketful of neatly folded clothes in her arms.

I glance up, the T-shirt dangling from my hand, and, for a moment, I just stare. She always looks good to me, but her new haircut makes her even sexier. She still, literally, takes my breath.

She puts the basket down on the bed. "Paul?"

"Hi, babe," I manage. "You look gorgeous."

A grin lights up her face. "You like my new haircut?"

"I love it." I walk over to her, take her in my arms, and kiss her deeply.

"Mmm, it looks like I came up here at just the right time," she murmurs, running her hands over my bare chest. She drags my head down for another kiss and I respond eagerly.

Our kiss becomes increasingly intense, but before things can go any further there's a knock on the door. "Mom," Kelly calls from the other side, "I just checked the answering machine. Aunt Stefanie left a message and wants you to call her as soon as you can."

"Ok, honey." She groans against my shoulder. "I could call her after dinner," she offers.

"No, it's ok. It might be important. I need to get the steaks on anyway."

"Can we pick this back up later?" she asks hopefully.

"Damn straight," I assure her.

"Good, because I have a surprise for you."

She knows being kept in suspense drives me crazy. I suspect that's mainly why she enjoys doing it. "Will you at least give me a hint?"

"Nope. But you'll like it," she promises, and exits the room before I can try to coax any more information out of her.

I smile at her retreating form, then put my shirt on and go outside to start the grill.

_7:09pm_

It's still hot out, but not like it was this afternoon. The steaks are about half-way done, which is exactly how I like mine. I move it up on the top rack to keep it warm while the others finish cooking. Annie steps out onto the patio carrying a shopping bag in one hand and two glasses in the other.

"I decided to have mercy on you and not make you wait too long for this one." She hands me the bag with a very self-satisfied expression on her face.

With great curiosity I open it, and am astonished to find a twenty-one-year-old bottle of Macallan inside. I take it out with exceeding care and then caress it reverently. "I don't know whether to drink this or marry it," I finally say.

"Hey, now, I won't stand for being dumped for a bottle of Scotch," she teases.

"Seriously, Annie, this is incredible. What's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be one?"

"No, I guess not, but with something like this it seems like there should be."

"Well, then, if we have to have a reason, I got it because I knew you were meeting with the council today and I figured you would need it." She stops for a minute, her tone becoming serious. "I got it because I know how much you like it. And because you hardly ever buy it for yourself. But, mostly, I bought it because I love you."

I smile, touched by her words. "And I love you. Thank you. Can we have some now?" I ask hopefully.

She puts the glasses down on the table. "Pour away."

I fix us both a shot, careful not to spill a drop, and hand one to her. "To you, babe," I say, and we clink our glasses together. Then, with almost unbearable anticipation, I take the first beautiful swallow, savoring it all the way down. "God, that's good."

"No, it's better than good," she corrects firmly.

"That's true," I agree. "How was Stefanie?"

Annie sits down at the table and takes another sip of her Scotch. "She sounded better," she says, "but she's still not sure what she's going to do."

Stefanie is Annie's younger sister. She lives in Tucson and teaches political science at the University of Arizona. She's married to an egotistical defense attorney named Clark Owens whose occupation alone is enough to make me not like him. Stefanie recently found out that Clark is screwing around with his secretary, and can't decide whether to leave him or not.

"I still think she should kick his sorry ass out," I say, not for the first time.

"I do, too," she agrees, "but she's worried about what it will do to the kids if they split up."

"The kids are getting old enough to understand what's going on," I remind her.

"I know. I told her that, too. But for whatever reason, she's still reluctant to file for divorce." She sips her drink in silence, obviously lost in thought. "If it's all right with you," she finally says, "I'm going to call her back tonight and invite her and the kids to come here for Labor Day Weekend. Maybe getting away from Clark for awhile will help her put things in perspective."

"Sure, that's fine with me," I reply. That seems to ease her mind because the worried look on her face disappears.

"How was work today?" she asks, in a much more cheerful tone.

"It was a madhouse," I say, and tell her all about my day. I begin with Kermit's Elvis impersonation, which she finds hilarious, then finish up on a much more somber note by describing what happened with Peter at the jewelry store.

"I can't believe he did that," she mutters, both anger and concern threading through her voice. "Doesn't he realize how close he came to getting killed?"

"Yeah, actually, I think he does," I reply. "And I hope it will make him change the way he's been acting lately."

"Damn it, Paul, this self-destructive behavior of his has got to stop," she says, and slams her tiny fist down on the table. "I know he's upset because his father left, but Caine's not the only one who cares about him. We've spent the last fifteen years loving him like he was our biological child, and sometimes he acts like we don't even matter, that all that time he spent living with us doesn't mean anything to him."

She is trembling and I know it's because she's scared of losing her son. I put the lid down on the grill and join her at the table. "Listen," I say, taking her hands, "you know that's not true."

"Then why does he do this? Why does he needlessly put himself at risk when he knows how much it would hurt us if something happened to him? Does he honestly believe that his life isn't worth living if Caine's not in it?"

"No, honey. He's just hurt and confused because Caine left and he's dealing with it the way he always deals with things when he feels rejected – by being impulsive and reckless."

"Well, he needs to grow up and start taking other people's feelings into consideration for once. He's too old to be this selfish. And that's the only way I can describe what he did today – completely selfish."

"I know," I soothe. "And if anything good came out of what happened this afternoon, it's that I think he might have finally realized how irresponsible he's been lately. He was pretty shaken up, and if I know Peter, he'll drop by tonight to apologize."

"Is that why you got the extra steak?"

I smile. "Yeah. Speaking of which, I'd say they're about done."

"I'll tell Kelly they're ready," she offers, and gets up from the table.

I stand up and wrap her in my arms. "Don't worry, babe," I murmur, and kiss her hair. "He knows how much we love him. And he's going to be ok."

_7:40pm_

About half-way through dinner, we hear the unmistakable sound of Peter's Corvette roaring up the driveway.

"Well, it looks like your hunch about Peter dropping by was right," Annie says.

"I was beginning to wonder," I confess.

A car door slams and a few seconds later Peter rounds the corner of the house. "Something sure smells good," he says, as he bounds up the steps.

"I should have known you wouldn't miss out on steak," Kelly teases.

He leans down and kisses the top of Annie's head. "You mean there's an extra one?"

"Yep, there's a plate for you on the stove," she informs him.

"How'd you know I'd stop by tonight?" he asks, looking at me.

"Just a feeling," I answer, a small smile playing on my lips.

"Oh," he says. He shuffles his feet and swallows hard. "Paul, I..."

I hold up my hand. "Get your food and eat while it's still relatively hot. We'll talk when you're done."

He sighs in relief and disappears into the house.

_8:31pm_

The food is long gone and Annie and Kelly are inside washing up the dishes. Peter and I are still sitting out on the deck, nursing our beers and watching the sun set. The colors that I've seen splash across the sky from this very spot never cease to amaze me and always affirm my belief in God. Tonight's display is particularly impressive and I'm content to just sit and watch it. Even Peter is quiet until the giant orange sphere finally slips below the horizon, leaving us in semi-darkness.

He takes a deep breath and finally breaks the silence. "I'm sorry for what I said to you today in your office. I didn't mean any of it," he says quietly. "And I'm also sorry for what happened at the jewelry store. It was stupid and I never should have done it."

I nod, encouraged by the start. The defiance that was so prevalent earlier has vanished, and he seems sincerely contrite. The fact that he's not blaming anyone else for his actions also eases my mind.

"I'm not going to contest the suspension," he adds. "I've had it coming for a long time."

"You really didn't leave me any other choice," I explain. "I can overlook a few things, Peter, but disobeying orders is something I won't tolerate. Not even from you. And I'm serious – if you ever do it again, I'm going to fire you."

He nods and we slip back into silence. He's quiet for so long that I almost think the conversation is over, but he eventually picks it back up.

"I realized something important today."

I look over at him, truly curious. "What's that?"

"How much I want to live. I thought I didn't. You know, because my father left and I couldn't understand how he could just walk away from me like that. Just when we had found each other again." He swallows hard and swipes at the tears that I know without a doubt are running down his face.

It breaks my heart to see him so hurt, and I want nothing more than to punish the man who has caused it. However, I put away the anger I feel towards Caine over how he has treated our mutual son, saving it for another time. Instead, I concentrate on the relief that is surging through my body. Relief that Peter has finally been able to acknowledge the reason for his behavior and can now start to deal with it.

I reach out and grab his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "People you love will always be leaving your life, son. Sometimes they have a choice, sometimes they don't. People die, people change... the important thing is not to turn your back on the ones who are still with you."

"I know that now. I'm just sorry it took something like this to make me see it."

"But you did. And that's what's important. And maybe now that you've decided your life is worth living, you'll be a little more careful with it." I stop for a moment to let my words sink in before moving on to another subject. "So, have you given any thought as to what you're going to do during your suspension?"

He shrugs. "A little. I might spend a few days up at the cabin. See if I can't get myself together," he says, and then pauses, seeming to search for the right words. "I also realized something else today – how much I've neglected my other father. And I was wondering if you'd like to come up over the weekend. We could go fishing and just hang out. That is, if you don't have any other plans."

I smile, touched by the invitation. "I can't think of anything else I'd rather do."

"Great." Then he sighs and shuffles to his feet. "Well, I guess I'd better go find Mom. I'm sure she's pretty pissed at the way I've been acting lately."

"You could say that," I confirm.

He sighs again, this time much deeper. "I don't suppose you want to come in with me, do you? Maybe run a little interference for me."

"Oh, no. You're on your own, kid. And if you thought I was rough on you this afternoon, you haven't seen anything yet."

"That's what I'm afraid of." He kisses the top of my head and then ruffles my hair. "Thanks, Dad. For everything," he whispers, and then trudges into the house to face his mother.

I _almost_ feel sorry for him.

_10:33pm_

Annie comes out of the bathroom, her skin still glistening with a few drops of residual water from the shower. She's wearing my old Eddie Bauer T-shirt, my favorite one that I've temporarily recaptured from Kelly in our never-ending battle, and it comes down almost to her knees. I put aside the Tom Clancy book I was reading and turn off the baseball game, which I had on out of habit more than anything else. "How'd it go with Peter?" I ask, as I slip off my reading glasses.

"Better than I expected, actually. I told him in no uncertain terms what I thought about the way he'd been acting. He apologized – profusely. Promised it would never happen again. Told me how much he loved me." She sighs heavily. "He said all the right things, and I honestly think he meant them."

"But you still don't feel any better about it?"

"Yes, to a certain extent, I do. But I'm still so angry. Angry at Caine for hurting Peter the way he did, and angry at Peter for the way he's reacted to the whole situation. As much as I love him, there are times when I just want to wring his neck."

"Believe me, I know exactly how you feel." I pat the bed. "Come over here."

She slides in beside me and snuggles up against me in her customary position – her head on my chest, her leg thrown casually over mine. The scent of her shampoo is intoxicating, and I drink it in.

"How long is he going to be off the streets?" she asks.

I do some quick calculating. "About three weeks – one for the suspension, and probably two more to complete the refresher course."

"You know he's going to drive you crazy being underfoot that long."

"Yeah, and I've been thinking about that. You know how Cooper stays on my ass about how I need to improve the department's relationship with the press?"

"Yes, I've heard you complain about it once or twice," she teases.

"Well, one of Peter's responsibilities while he's on desk duty is going to be media relations. Every time Sandra Mason calls me up, I'm referring her to him. He can answer her questions about the gang wars in Chinatown. He can explain to her that the reason things are so out of control down there is because the politicians refuse to give the police department enough funds to do their job. In fact, I was thinking it would be a great idea if he personally escorted her on a series of tours throughout the area so she can see the effects of the gangs firsthand. She'd love that."

"Paul, that's so mean. You know how much they hate each other," she says, but is giggling nonetheless. "It's brilliant."

"I thought so," I reply, pretty pleased with my ingenuity. "Not only does it get Peter out of my hair, but it keeps me from having to deal with her. Plus, it should keep Cooper off my back, at least about that."

"You know something, Blaisdell? You can be downright evil sometimes." She turns to face me and traces an elegant finger down my cheek. "And that's one of the things I love about you the most."

"Oh, yeah? Well, then, let me show you just how evil I can be." With a lecherous grin, I crush her to me and completely ravage her mouth. She responds just as hungrily, and soon has me on my back, her expert hands and tantalizing tongue doing all the things that drive me mad.

All the stress of the tumultuous day I've had begins to fade away as she brings unspeakable pleasure to my body. And when I finally go into her, it disappears completely, engulfed by a raging passion that is unequaled by anything I've ever known.

Much later, when we're both completely spent, with her still in my arms, I offer up a quick prayer of gratitude for this wonderful life I've been blessed with. My last thought before I succumb to the gentle pull of sleep is how thankful I am that I'll get to do it all again tomorrow.


End file.
